Title: On the Town

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sara/Warrick

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

Notes: Fourth in the Familiar Places series, following On the Floor, In the Car and In the Living Room.

***

In my time working as a CSI on graveyard, I've learned that making a date with someone is not exactly the easiest thing in the world. I do my best, but the fact of the matter is, during the hours when most people are out and about, I'm working, and one night off a week doesn't exactly make for a good relationship.

It's easier however, when the people you have a date with also works nightshift, which came in handy when Lea and I were together. We had a good time together, and compared to some relationships I've been in, we had a good innings, but we were never well-matched enough to make it work long term.

I'm hoping though, that things will work out differently with Sara.

I pull up at her place at exactly the time I said I'd be here, keen to make a good impression, and despite the fact that I've known her for literally years, I'm still more than a little nervous when I knock on her door. I suddenly understand how Sara must have felt yesterday when she came knocking on my door after that kiss, and now I don't blame her a bit for being late.

She doesn't take long to open the door, and she gives me a smile, not the full wattage grin that I've seen her flash on occasion, but enough of one to banish any of my nerves. "Right on time," she says, stepping back to let me in, and I take the opportunity to look around, taking in as much as I can. It's a nice place, small, with the kitchen to my left, living room in front of me, and the bathroom and bedroom somewhere off to the side.

"I know how you like that," I tell her as I check the place out, and when I look at her, see the twinkle in her eyes, I know that she's noticed what I'm doing. When she turns away, I also figure out that she's not going to call me on it. Instead she's reaching for the purse that's left on the kitchen counter, her jacket already slung over one arm. "You ready to go?"

She nods, a funny little grin on her face. "Unless you want to look around some more," she teases, but there's an edge to her voice that lets me know exactly what she's thinking.

Which is also exactly what I'm thinking, and while I wouldn't be adverse to finding the bedroom and examining the furniture closely, I know that we can't right now. If this, whatever it is, stands any chance at all of working, we've got to take things slow.

"How about I take a rain check on that?" I ask, going to her, falling into step beside her, letting my hand rest on the small of her back.

She grins up at me again, and I feel as well as hear her chuckle. "It's a date," she tells me, and the fact that she's repeating words that we've already used with one another makes me ridiculously happy.

I drive to the restaurant, a nice little out of the way place that I know. It's not too fancy, but it's not the usual diner that we go to either; the lights are low and there are candles on the tables, even though, at three in the afternoon, the lunch crowd has only just abated. It's a good time to come here though, in between rushes as it were, so there's not too much noise or too many people. We can just sit across from one another at the table and talk, get to know one another a little better.

And that's exactly what we do.

I guess I thought that having worked with Sara for so long I knew a lot about her, but it doesn't take long for me to be disabused of that notion. For instance, while I guessed that she wasn't especially close to her parents, purely from the fact that she doesn't go home that much, I always assumed that her parents were some kind of highly paid, ultra-conservative type people. I never, in a million years, would have guessed that they were ex-hippies who ran a B&B, who never let her cut her hair until she was eighteen.

"You're kidding me," I say, when she drops that particular bombshell in my lap.

"Nope," she says, shaking her head, a crooked smile adorning her face. "I had hair down to my waist till I went to Harvard. One of the first things I did there was chop it all off."

I try to imagine Sara with hair that long, and fail completely. "I would've liked to see that," I tell her honestly, and that's greeted with another laugh.

"Oh no." It's said more than a little firmly. "Remember what you were saying about your high school photos?"

"Ah." Deciding to drop that particular subject, I seize on her mention of Harvard. "So, what was Harvard like?"

"Cold," she replies instantly, with an exaggerated shudder. "Boston winters are always the first thing that comes to mind."

"So that's why you went back to San Francisco," I surmise, and she nods.

"That, and the fact that I always loved the city," she says. She smiles again, a look in her eyes that tells me she's a hundred miles away, but then her face clears, and she looks at me curiously, tilting her head. "What about you? Never wanted to leave Vegas?"

I shrug, taking my time with my answer, because for a time, that was all I might have wanted. "Sometimes," I tell her honestly, and I know it's not the answer she was expecting when she lifts an eyebrow.

"Why didn't you?"

I shrug again. "I was eighteen," I tell her. "Applying to colleges, scouting for scholarships, you know, the usual." If anyone would know, it would be her, so she nods. "I was all ready to go away… Yale, believe it or not."

She looks torn between wanting to glare at me for admitting acceptance to her alma mater's sworn rivals, and asking me further questions. She opts for the latter, a curious expression on her face. "What stopped you?"

"I never knew my father," I tell her, and she blinks at the apparent change in subject. "My mom and I lived with my grandmother, until I was seven. That's when my mom was killed in a car crash." Her jaw drops, but she recovers quickly.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"So then it was just Grams and me," I continue. "And she wanted me to go to college, she was already bragging to all her friends about her grandson going off to Yale…" I smile at the memory, about how she loved to embarrass me like that, trotting me out at every opportunity just so she could tell the story over and over. "Then I was at school one day and I got a message to call to the office… our neighbours were on the phone, telling me that Grams was in Desert Palms… she'd had a heart attack."

I don't even have to close my eyes to remember how scared I was that day, and I can still remember what that corridor looked liked, how it smelled, the face of the receptionist who told me where to go, the nurse who came to give me updates. It was one of the worst days of my life.

"She got better," I tell Sara quickly, seeing the concern on her face. "Mild heart attack… but it took her a long time to get there, and I didn't want to leave her. I'd applied to Western LVU anyway, as a backup, so my guidance counsellor pulled a few strings, called in a few favours, and that's where I ended up." Another shrug. "Haven't left since."

Sara's staring at me with amazement written all over her face. "You were accepted to Yale, and you passed it up to stay with your grandmother?"

"She needed me," I tell her simply. "I could get a full ride to Western, work part-time, help pay the bills…" What I did to pay the bills though, is a story for another time, because while we're having a nice time, I don't think that tales of me working as a runner would keep the trend going. "It's no big deal."

My hand's been tapping restlessly on the table as I recount the tale, and it only stops now because her hand reaches across the table, a warm weight on top of mine. "Yes," she tells me softly. "It is."

I want to say something, but unfortunately, what with her skin against mine and the way she's looking at me, I'm having difficulty forming a coherent thought. So I don't speak, instead turning my hand under hers, closing my fingers around her palm.

We sit there for what seems like a long time, just smiling at one another, holding hands, and I'm almost ready to speak again, have almost thought of the perfect words for this moment, but the ringing of a cell phone puts paid to that notion. Sara's eyes narrow into a glare, and I might think she's angry were it not for the distinct sparkle in her eyes, the puckering of her lips into a smile. "If that's Grissom…" she threatens, and I laugh, using my free hand to reach for my phone. I don't care who it is, I don't want to let go of her hand.

But it's not Grissom, and the words I hear have my stomach churning, my mind reeling in shock and disbelief. I was only revisiting this minutes ago, it can't be happening again.

When I put the phone back down on the table however, only to see her staring at me in a mixture of fear and concern, realise that my hand is gripping hers tightly, I realise that it is.

"What's wrong?" she asks without preamble, and my voice doesn't sound like my own when I answer.

"That was the hospital," I tell her. "It's my Grams… she's had another heart attack."